Last Night I Had A Nightmare

Barcelona have been playing the kind of football that has you applauding the television screen at regular intervals, Nathalie tells me that my shouting everytime they score a goal (which is roughly every thirty minutes since September) has her in a state or perpetual nervousness. The victory over Bayern Munich on Wednesday was probably the most complete demolition of a side in the Quarter Finals of a European competition I think I have ever seen. The only thing that spolied the evening was two bizarre decisions by England's best referee Howard Webb: the decision not to give a penalty when Lionel Messi was tripped in the first half was compounded by a yellow card for Barca's number ten and then the sending of Pep Guardiola to the stands.

Anyway Barca did what they have been doing repeatedly this season and cruised to a four goal half time lead, a mixture of fantasy football and hard work, the fourth goal an example of both facets of their game, and then took the second half off.

The way the other three Quarter Finals went only heightened this fear I have that the Champions League Final in Rome in May will be Arsenal v Chelsea. The sheer physical strength of Chelsea will cause the Barca back four problems, Puyol, Dani Alves and Rafael Marquez are not that great in the air and as I have posted before this is where they miss Gabi Milito alongside Pique. Barca's best hope is to play the first leg at the Bridge and come away level or a goal up, forcing Chelsea to come forward leaving space to be exploited by the three musketeers (Henry, Messi and Etoo). Arsenal got a great result at Villareal considering the way the game looked to be going in the first half and I can't see why they won't go through to play Porto in the other semi-final. Chelsea's progress should be a formality, the three away goals meaning Liverpool have to score three goals away from home without reply - they did win at Old Trafford last month 4-1 so anything is possible, however unlikely.

The prospect of Arsenal v Chelsea in the final is enough to have anybody, without allegiance to the two clubs, reaching for the mirror to check they haven't turned into Mrs Edvard Munch.